


And The World Has Somehow Shifted

by firesandpixies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Crack, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Don't Take This Too Seriously, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pokemon References, This Is STUPID, because i'm a sucker for long haired kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesandpixies/pseuds/firesandpixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I knew this a bad idea,” Kenma quietly sighs as he tries to peer around the cave, which yielded less than positive results considering it was so dark he couldn’t see his own feet. </p><p>Up until 24 hours ago, Kenma has been a rule abiding, impeccably behaved, Son-of-the-Year-worthy child. He makes his bed, listens to his mother, washes the dishes, does the laundry, takes regular baths, and most of all, he has never stepped out of the tower. </p><p>Ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The World Has Somehow Shifted

**Author's Note:**

> _  
> **AND AT LAST I SEE THE LIGGGGGGHTS**  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> I love Tangled, I love Kuroken, and I love imagining Kenma with long hair. I wrote this two months ago for Kuroken Month but I never gotten around to finish it because I'm a lazy piece of shit. This was supposed to be longer but I decided to just post it now since there's a 99.9% chance that I'll never get to it. 
> 
> Prior Tangled knowledge is needed to enjoy this fic or you would be hella confused. If you like trash, you'll like this. 
> 
> (Unbeta-ed, please manually autocorrect)

 

 

“I knew this a bad idea,” Kenma quietly sighs as he tries to peer around the cave, which yielded less than positive results considering it was so dark he couldn’t see his own feet. 

Up until 24 hours ago, Kenma has been a rule abiding, impeccably behaved, Son-of-the-Year-worthy child. He makes his bed, listens to his mother, washes the dishes, does the laundry, takes regular baths, and most of all, he has never stepped out of the tower. 

Ever. 

 

 

“But I just want to go see the tournament,” Kenma pouts, looking down at his feet and curling his toes habitually. 

“Absolutely not,” his mother says, putting on her coat and checking herself in the mirror. “It’s a terrible world, you’ll be eaten alive if you ever step outside. Remember the men with pointy teeth?” 

Kenma shivers at the image of men with pointy teeth. It reminds him of the books he read about ‘The Zombie Apocalypse’ where people eat each other and the whole world bursts into flames. 

As if to console him, his mother adds, “It’s alright, darling. Instead,tonight I’ll make you hazelnut soup! Isn’t that exciting? Why go out when we can stay indoors and drink some delicious soup. Now, be a dear and let down your hair.” 

 _But I hate hazelnut soup_ , Kenma thinks, as he quietly pads to the open window and throws his blonde hair over the ledge. 

 

 

Kuroo audibly pants as he pumps his legs faster, dashing through the thick foliage of the forest. He feels something in his windpipe, and thinks that he might have accidentally swallowed a fly. But he does not have time to stew on it as he hears rapid footsteps approaching. 

His lungs feel like they are on fire but he pushes on despite his legs vehemently protesting against it. Hugging his satchel even closer to his body, he spots a curtain of vines to his left and abruptly makes a sharp turn, dashing for cover. Behind the heavy curtain of overgrown vines lead to an entrance of a tunnel; _even better_ , Kuroo congratulates himself on his luck and quietly slips deeper into the tunnel, following the dim trace of light at the other end. 

When he remerges, he finds himself standing in front of a lone tower amidst the clearing. The tower and the growth around it look regularly maintained so he figures someone must be living in the building, strange as it is. Seeing no entrance to the tower, he heaves a heavy sigh and prepares himself to scale the building, using the edges of the bricks as leverage to pull himself up. If there was something Kuroo was good at besides everything else in the world, it was climbing. His agility is a god sent gift and he reasons that he must have been some kind of Cat God in his previous life. 

In no time at all, he reaches the top of the tower and hauls himself through the window, and lands on his feet (as always). 

“Hello? Anyone home?” he calls, peering around the nicely furnished interior, complete with rugs, a fireplace, matching tables and chairs. While he busies himself judging furniture, he fails to realise someone silently creeping behind him. A sudden burst of pain shoots from the back of his head and the last thing he sees is a white ball coming towards him before his vision goes black. 

 

 

“Oh my god,” Kenma whispers as he slums against a wall and hugs his knees, his right hand still clutching to the murder weapon. “Oh my god,” he mutters to himself for the seventh time, not daring to look at the body a few feet away from him. 

He can’t believe he killed someone with a frying pan. 

He freaked out and acted without thinking. In the past seventeen years of his life, no one but his mother has entered the tower; and all of a sudden, this man who looked like he couldn’t afford a comb comes waltzing into the place, and what was he supposed to do? Kenma breathes in deeply. Okay, maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe he’s evil and so murdering him would be justified, right? To confirm his theory, he cautiously crawls over to the man and jabs at his mouth with the end of the frying pan. 

He does not have pointy teeth. Which means that Kenma killed an innocent man. Mother would be so upset and she would definitely never let him go to the tournament now. 

 _“What the…”_ The man stirs and groggily shifts from the floor. Kenma’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the man rising from the dead. 

“ZOMBIE!” he screams as he swings his frying pan out of pure instinct. 

After a few moments of collecting himself, Kenma rationalises a few things: one, zombies are fictional; two, the man is probably not a zombie; three, the man is not dead judging from the faint rise and fall of his chest. 

Gingerly, he taps the man’s shoulder with the frying pan handle. After a few taps and no response, he hooks his arms under the man’s shoulder and drags him to the nearest wall, which proved to be an arduous task as the only kind of exercise Kenma ever does is climb the stairs to his bedroom. After a gruelling process of arranging the man upright and tying the man up with his hair (he couldn’t find rope), he sits a distance away to observe any movement from the stranger. 

 

 

With a low grumble, Kuroo regains consciousness and immediately focuses on a white tuff rubbing itself against his calves. “What the hell is that?” he exclaims, eyeing the creature with growing discomfort. 

“That is Angel, my cat,” a voice answers. 

“That is not a cat,” Kuroo counters, “that is a overstuffed sack of potatoes. What did you even feed him?”

“… He doesn’t go out much… like me.”

Kuroo finally looks away from the pseudo-cat to the person talking to him and ––– holy shit. He meets the most gorgeous pair of gold eyes framed by a head of long (really long), bright blonde hair. He must have died and went to heaven. _Thank you, God,_  he silently prays. 

He puts on his most charming smile despite the throbbing pain of his head, and winks. “I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you, but may I just say… hi, how are ya’?” 

If it was any possible, the look of disgust and apprehension on the beautiful stranger’s face etches even deeper, his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He looks like he really did not want to be here and by shrinking himself further behind his hair, he would hopefully teleport to another dimension.

“Okay, sorry, we can talk again later, but first can you please get me out of these rope––– SWEET BABY JESUS IS THAT YOUR HAIR?” Kuroo eyes the gold strands of hair wrapped tightly around his body in half disgust and half amazement. When the long haired boy doesn’t respond, he continues, “You know what, doesn’t matter. Can you just please untie me? I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

The boy stares at him silently as he plays with the too-long sleeves of his oversized maroon tunic. “Who are you and why are you here?” he asks. 

Kuroo sighs. Better to comply with his captor’s requests so he can get out of here as soon as possible. “My name is Kuroo. I’m here because… well, I was leaving the capital and a bunch of bandits were chasing after me so I came here to seek shelter,” he lies. 

“You’re from the capital?” 

“Yes,” Kuroo answers, wondering if the stranger has seen through his lie. 

The boy watches him in silence behind his curtain of hair and Kuroo can almost hear the cogs working in his head. 

“My name is Kenma,” the boy quietly says after a while. 

“Pretty name for a pretty face,” Kuroo grins. 

Kenma frowns and ignores that statement. “Bring me to the capital to see the Pokémon Card Tournament,” he says it more like a demand than a request. 

Every year, Kenma sees hot air balloons from the capital advertising the event, and every year he forlornly thumbs his collection of Pokémon cards he got from his mother, wondering when he can participate. A few days ago, as though by the work of fate, an event flyer flew into his window and it feels like a sign that this is his year to finally participate. After all, there are only so many times you can play against yourself before it gets boring. This is his chance. This is the Pokémon God providing him a window of opportunity, he thinks wistfully. 

“No can do,” Kuroo says smugly. “I’m rushing somewhere. I don’t have time to bring you there.” 

Kenma reaches behind his back to pull out Kuroo’s satchel. “If you don’t, then whatever is in this bag will be gone forever.” 

Kuroo’s expression darkens. 

“Bring me there and back, and it’ll be yours to keep.” 

 

 

When Kenma imagines going to the capital, he did not envision it with so much running. 

“Who’s that?” he asks, watching a troop of soldiers riding towards them. It’s only been an hour since they left the tower, and they’re still navigating through the thick of the forest.

Kuroo groans in frustration, grabs Kenma’s hand and pulls him in the opposite direction. “They don’t like me,” Kuroo says, ducking into a cluster of bushes. 

“Who’s that?” Kenma asks again, as he feebly follows where Kuroo pulls him to, his other hand grabbing as much hair as he can to avoid it catching onto branches, roots and everything in the forest as he has learned from the past hour. 

Two beefy looking men stand five feet away, hacking at any low hanging branches or leaves in their way.

Kuroo gulps, “They don’t like me either.” He immediately changes direction, walking towards the riverbank. 

“How about them?” Kenma points at a lone man riding his horse on the other side of the river, eyes searching in concentration. 

“Let’s just assume for the moment that everyone here doesn’t like me,” Kuroo answers and pumps his legs faster, holding onto Kenma’s hand even tighter. 

After a couple of minutes, he feels resistance against his hand and he turns around to see Kenma panting heavily, bits of leaves caught in his hair, and his satchel hanging loosely by his side. 

“Tired,” he mumbles, looking down at the ground. 

Kuroo glances around, fearing the troops or his fellow thieves will catch up to them soon. Despite his weariness, he swiftly loops Kenma’s arms around his shoulder and hoists him on his back. 

“What––” Kenma whispers in confusion, legs pressing firmly against Kuroo’s sides reflexively. 

“Hold on tight, kitten.” 

After making sure Kenma is secure on his back, he picks up speed again and dashes away from his pursuers, the sound of crunching dried leaves and twigs echoing beneath his feet. They stop at a tavern at the edge of the forest, a dingy looking establishment smelling of beer, old smoke and roasted meat. 

They take a seat at the corner of the room, Kenma squirming uncomfortably in his seat as he lowers his chin and tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. 

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo asks as he returns to the table with a plate of bread and hard cheese. 

“They’re staring…” Kenma mumbles, reaching out to take a piece of bread to nibble on. 

Kuroo takes a quick scan of his surrounding, and realises that yes, everyone is looking in their direction with malicious intent. A few of the thuggish men began rising slowly from their seats, eyes locked onto him. 

Kuroo gulps, “I think we should leave.” 

“Why––”

Kenma does not have time to finish his question before the whole tavern bursts into pandemonium, its patrons furiously charging towards Kuroo. 

“He’s mine!” 

“Get lost, I’m getting the reward!” 

“I saw him first!” 

Kenma shrinks himself further into the corner and meekly analyses the situation. As he looks up at the adjacent wall, he spots a reward poster with Kuroo’s face on it. 

 _Oh, he’s a criminal,_  he thinks, but does not feel too perturb by that fact since Kuroo does not have pointy teeth, and it’s a well known fact that pointy teeth is an universal indicator if someone is evil or not. The patrons attacking Kuroo does not have them either. They aren’t evil either then. Satisfied with his conclusion, he moves on to a more pressing issue at hand –– how should he act in this current situation? 

Should he somehow help Kuroo out of his predicament? But there were so many of them and only one of him - one weak human against all those people with bulging muscles and intimidating helmets. Should he just leave and try to find the capital himself? No, that would be courting death. He would probably lose his way and end up rotting in a ditch. Kenma bites his lips in contemplation. He really wants to see that Pokémon match. 

Against his sense of self-preservation, he stands up on his bar stools and yells, “LEAVE HIM ALONE.” 

The room falls silent and every head whips around to stare at him. He holds his breath and wills himself not to crumble under the attention. This is a matter of life and Bulbasaur. Taking a deep breath, he says, “I don’t know where I am, but I need him to take me to the Pokémon tournament because I have been dreaming about them my entire life. Find your humanity, haven’t any of you ever had a dream?!”

The room is still deadly quiet until one of the Vikings steps forward and meets Kenma eye to eye. “I… had a dream once.” 

Kenma did not calculate the possible outcomes to his speech, did not ponder if he would actually succeed or be skewered by a sword, but he definitely in a thousand light years never imagined everyone in the tavern bursting into a musical sequence. 

He does not know what to do. The Vikings are boisterously singing a song about their dreams. There’s someone playing the piano. There are people dancing. Did they… rehearse this? How do they all know the lyrics to the song? How do they get the harmonisation right? Did they plan this? 

He did not hear or see Kuroo slinking up to him with all the boggling questions in his head as he stared at the scene unfolding before him in equal parts horror and confusion. 

“Let’s go while they’re singing,” Kuroo whispers, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the exit. 

“Hold up.” one of the Vikings steps in front of them. “What is your dream, boy?” 

“Me?” Kuroo asks incredulously. “Oh no, sorry man, I don’t sing.” 

He hears a dozen swords unsheathing. 

“Uh… an enormous pile of money?”

The Viking looks at him in obvious disgust before moving to look at Kenma. “Go. Live your dream.” 

“Thanks,” Kuroo says.

The Viking snorts, “Your dream sucks. I was talking to him.” 

 

 

“I knew this a bad idea,” Kenma quietly sighs as he tries to peer around the cave, which yielded less than positive results considering it was so dark he couldn’t see his own feet. 

It has been barely 30 minutes after they leave the tavern that the soldiers from earlier began pursuing them again. In a frantic chase, they manage to slip inside a rocky tunnel just as the entrance crumbles from the disturbance, blocking every form of light. 

Kuroo sighs and slumps on the dirt, “At least I get to die with someone pretty.” 

Kenma makes a face, which is ineffective in this darkness and a waste of energy. After a moment of silence, he slowly speaks, “I have an idea… But I need you to not freak out.” 

Kenma can hear the smirk in Kuroo’s voice as he says, “Kitten, I’m the God of Not Freaking Out. If I were any calmer I would be a corpse.” 

“O-okay.” It’s the last thing Kuroo hears before he dies because he swears he’s in heaven listening to angels sing right now. 

_Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine_

Oh wait, that’s Kenma singing with his glowing hair. 

“I see a path,” the glowing-haired boy says quietly before gathering his hair in his arms and following the trail in careful, measured steps. 

“His hair glows,” Kuroo states, still immobilised to the ground. 

_“WHY DOES HIS HAIR GLOW?”_

 

 

They make it out of the tunnel eventually, and immediately Kuroo leads the way to a stream to spend the night at. After settling down and starting a fire, both of them sit around the campfire watching two sticks of fish roast in the orange flames. 

The first thing Kuroo says is, “So, WHY DOES YOUR HAIR GLOW?” 

Kenma flinches at the sudden increase in volume, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “I don’t know. It has always been like that. That’s why I don’t leave the tower.” 

“Because people freak out?” 

Kenma shakes his head. “Mother says there are lots of people who want it. People who will hurt me for my hair.” The blonde boy shoots him a look.

“I don’t want your hair.”

“Just confirming,” Kenma says, returning his gaze to the fire. 

“But since we’re on that topic,” Kuroo continues, “I might as well ask. Anything else you’re hiding from me? Do you have elf-vision? Supersonic hearing? Explosive fingernails?” 

Kenma’s lips quirks up slightly. “No. Just glowing hair with healing properties.”  

“Heal— WHAT?” Kuroo asks, in a definite Not Freaking Out tone. 

Kenma chews on his lips before shifting towards Kuroo, reaching for his arm. There is a small cut across his palm where he grazed it against a particularly sharp surface in the tunnel. Deftly, Kenma wraps a small tendril of his blonde locks around Kuroo’s hand and begin singing the same song he did back in the tunnel. 

Kuroo does not know how to respond to this situation so he maintains his silence as he watches the smaller boy gently unwrap his hair, revealing his freshly healed palm. He brings his hand closer to himself, inspecting it with wide eyes. “Holy shit,” he gapes, staring at Kenma in wonderment. 

Kenma fidgets uncomfortably under the strong gaze and drops his head forward. “You… won’t try to sell me away, right?” 

Kuroo clutches his chest in mock offense. “Of course not! What do you think I am? A criminal?” 

The blonde boy stares at him behind the loose strands of hair partially obscuring his face. 

“Fine,” Kuroo sighs. “I promise to safely send you to your Pokemon tournament and back, okay? No lies, no games, no human trafficking.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe you spent time finishing this. Thank you.
> 
> Also, please re-watch Tangled and this time imagine Flynn as Kuroo and Rapunzel as Kenma.


End file.
